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Dreamscape - Alina Luddite
Introduction * Dream #1: The Golden Thread * Dream #2: Distant Shores Introduction The following is a selection of dreams which have taken place for the character Alina Luddite. These dreams will develop/change as she progresses with recovering her memories over the course of her story. Like most dreams, there is a bit of reality mixed in with other random imagery. None of the events hinted at in these dreams happened literally as they are being written. This is mostly a character-building exercise for me, as well as something that might be useful to some NewType characters who encounter Alina. Dream #1: The Golden Thread Like all things, it begins and ends in darkness. Oppresive, omnipresent darkness so close that it seems to press down on her chest, forcing the breath from her lips. Lines of color shoot through the vast expanse, flowing like some demon pulse drawing venom in from some distant wound, bringing it closer and closer to the heart of all things. A fierce, burning fire rips through her veins, the pain lashing wildly into her mind as if every nerve were set on a razor's edge. There is no escape. Her hands are bound into place, fingers tense around the glowing orbs beneath them. Muscles spasm, convulsing, trying to break free even as the strong hands force her back into place. The empty, faceless men have no sympathy. Can they not feel it? The way that the fire seems as if it were trying to consume every part of her, down to her very soul. Pleading, begging, they don't seem to hear her as they only tie the restraints ever tighter. Try as she might, shutting her eyes only seems to redouble the pain and the disorientation. The jab of a needle pierces a vein, the cold chill that seems to stop the worst of the seizures, but replaces it with something far worse. A sick, empty feeling lingers in her stomach, making it harder and harder to breathe. The ice chills her fingers and toes as they start to feel disconnected, numb. A scream rips through the darkness, moving like a wave of energy that seems to shake the very core of this world. But who's scream? Someone else, or her own? The squeeking of wheels comes nearby, and as she tries to look, her head is caught once more by those restraints. A child, a boy no more than ten is being dragged from a cockpit, his limp, pale body looking more like a broken doll than a human being. His mouth is drawn open in a look of abject horror, blank eyes rolled back. As they wheel him by, his hand slips from the gurney and the cold, dead fingers dangle against her arm. And then it comes to her again, that presence that forces her back into the seat and rattles her bones. Her breathes turn to gasps, a cry forced from her lips as she writhes in agony. There is a sickening feeling as if her flesh were being torn away, cutting down to the core, to the only bright place left in her heart of hearts. All thought, all hope, all sense of herself is slowly sucked away, the light dimming, growing ever more feeble as bit by bit her body is replaced by that of the machine. Detatched, cold, analytical, slowly whatever it was that made her human is torn away. Like a dying candle flame, that light gives one final, fatal sputter before going dark. All is quiet. Even the faceless men seem to be holding their breath. All their needles, all their hands cannot hurt her now. The lines of color flowing into the distance are stable now, as there is no more heart to fight against their pull. Immortality. Power. Control. Strings pull those metallic arms, guiding them into place. A puppet, a doll just like that dead boy, but still somehow still breathing. Their delighted faces as her arm lifts, a gun held tight in her grasp. Their final test as she is set to stand upon the battlefield, her gun aimed at the image of a boy. A boy, no older than she is, with familiar blue eyes. Like images in a mirror, the two level weapons at one another. The images flicker, first showing him as the machine, and then her, and then both children as humans. The men command them to obey. To fire. To prove themselves. Blood splatters across her face. Warm. Rich. Who's blood? No... /Their/ blood. Slowly, the gun drops from her fingers as she looks down to the gaping wound in her chest. She topples to her knees, watching the boy with the trembling hands. But where he stands is no longer the darkness. It is the edge of a deep chasm, the clanging, grinding sound of the monster machine echoing from deep below. Like a siren song, it seems to call to them. It calls to her to pick up the gun. It calls to him to finish what he started. He levels the gun towards her head, taking a step closer as his eyes narrow with that cold, inhuman stare. His face, the agony drawn out in his lips, perhaps that alone is enough. A heartbeat. A single breath. It is no longer the boy standing there, but the machine's puppet. Whatever kind face he had once had, it is nothing but empty metal now. The chasm calls even as he steps forward, pressing the gun against her forehead. The pain returns, starting not at the wound in her chest, but instead in her heart. Like a flicker, the light returns even as it seems that the boy has become lost to that same nothingness. She closes her eyes. Click. Nothing happens. The gun holds no death, no sweet end to this empty, hollow pain. There is laughter from below. A shaking, crackling sound as the land beneath them begins to give-way. A fissure splits the dry, red earth beneath them, and then he starts to fall. There is no tought, no consideration as she lashes out, grabbing onto his metallic arm as she tetters on the precipice. The pain in her chest is forgotten, all that matters is holding on. There is an interminable moment where the two hang there, on the edge between life and death, living and becoming the unliving. She whispers. A few short words. Words that have so much meaning to so many. Her tears, her pain, her will alone seems to be the binding thread that twists in golden light, wrapping around her hand and then down to circle the boy's forearm. The metal encasing him breaks away, leaving him looking up into her eyes. Emotion returns like a flood of warmth finally coming home. With that renewed strength, she pulls him back onto the ledge. No matter how hard the machine might try, they were stronger now. That pain could no longer reach them. That cold emptiness could no longer tear them apart. Arm in arm, the golden rope seems to sink into their skin, the twined thread binding hearts, souls, spirits. So even as a new darkness looms, a new threat offers no comfort or safety, they know that they are never truly alone. Whatever new roads may come, they will travel them together. Dream #2: Distant Shores What begins in darkness all too soon comes to light. Like mists across some far horizon, light dawns, heralding new beginnings. It isn't like before. The air cold, raising goosebumps on her bare arms. The wind blows up off of a cerulean sea, the white-tipped waves crashing over a bleached white beach that stretches out as far as the eye can see. Above, a gull caws, drawing her eyes upward to the reddened glow of sunrise as it stretches across the land. Each place the light touches seems to come to life, as if this world were being created piece by piece upon a black canvas. A breeze draws pale hair back from her face, the strands whipping down onto her shoulders as she stands atop the bluff, looking down upon the strange painting of a world in relief against nothingness. It seems real. This place - this dream - this memory. Whatever it might be, there is a fragile feeling to it, as if it would crumble to dust if she focused too hard on any one place. It all seems like some moment held within a breath of time - one that might easily be lost back to the eternal darkness. Still, there is life here. The trees sway with the wind, their leaves bearing the flowers of spring and the call of birds. Their song rises up, each tiny soul calling out to find another that might resonate with that call. To find the one that might make their song whole again. It is their plight that lingers in her chest, like a cold hand clutched around her heart. Something is missing. Lost. There is a tugging at her fingers, drawing eyes down towards a single golden strand that seems to be interlaced through them, vanishing into the skin of her arm as if it were part of who she is. Something deeper than the lines of metatron poisoning that mark her skin, and more true than the half-life that she had been living. Some tie, some trace, some part of herself that still called out across time and space between. The thread seems to lead off into nowhere, although it shifts from time to time, as if something were moving on the other end. As her line of sight follows the thread, laughter catches her ears. A pair of children are playing on the beach. From the distance, they seem so similar, both with the same dark hair and deep oceanic eyes. Familiar eyes. A girl and a boy - both too young to be out in a place like this on their own. The waves seem to call to them, almost as if they were entranced by the cool water and the steady pull of the tides. It was a game - and she watched as they began to swim, challenging each other to see who could go the furthest. Danger. Lightning flashes in far off storm-clouds that hadn't been there a moment before. It arcs down to the roiling sea, illuminating the rough and turbulant waves. There is a sound of a cry, a call for help. It seems to strike across her heart like a flint to steel, lighting a fire in her heart that even the first few drops of rain pouring down can't quench. Peering over the end of the bluff, she can still see them. The boy is struggling, barely able to keep his head above water. There is no time for thought or reason. Only action. So she dives from the bluff into the cold water below. When she surfaces, things are different. There is no rain, no thunder, no great waves, only a blue sea. Her clothes have given way to a swimsuit, and her white hair has gone the dark color of ... the girl. She /was/ the girl - if only for this moment. Her eyes frantically search over the surface of the water, but there is no sign of the boy. Taking a breath, filling her lungs with air, she dives into the darkness below. There! A flash of something in the murky depths. A ghostly arm, almost too slick to hold, but somehow she manages to pull him towards her, hooking her arms around his chest as her legs propell them both to the surface. The scene changes again. The cold wind makes the water feel like ice on her skin, but that isn't the worst. What really makes her blood run cold is the sight of the boy. His skin is pale, with a blue tinge lingering at his lips. There is no laughter in him now - no smiles, or joy, or challenge of adventures to come. His chest is still, long strands of dark hair clinging about his face. Dead. No! Some part of her tries to scream out, but nothing comes out. It seems as if the world were trapped in that moment, so that even the waves come to an unnatural pause behind them. Guilt. Somehow she had been the cause of this. If she hadn't swam out that far. If she had kept a better watch on him. If she had been there - maybe he would still be... NO! He wasn't dead. He can't be dead. Panic sends a bolt of sheer electricity down her spine as the girl places her head to his chest, hearing silence and nothing more. Trying to hold back tears, to hold back the swell of loss threatening to rise up in her chest, she instead takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she tips his head up, pressing her lips down against his. To all the spirits and gods of all the variant Earths, she gives one plea: Let me take his place. Let it be me instead. In that moment, something passes between them. Not just breath, but some spark that is more than oxygen. The breath of life - she'd heard someone say once. This was more than just that. It almost seems as if her heartbeat were resonating in his chest. Each time her breath joins his, each time that her lips touch his, it isn't just for herself, but for someone who means more to her than her own life. //Live// The thought seems to shake through the fragile strings that still hold the world together. And as she wakes, left shaken by the dream - by not knowing the fate of the boy and the girl that had felt so /real/ to her - Lin is left with one lingering word. //Live// But it had not been her voice that said it, or the girl's voice. She'd heard it before. Somewhere. But where? Category:Dreams